Saerian perused the contents of one of the tables just inside the tent, smiling slightly. There were a great many things here he recognized from other eras, other countries, other everything. This tent felt like an enclave off into the past.
He liked that.
He was giving Phaedra, Harry and the hunters a wide berth. Controlling Phaedra had been incredibly tiring, and if he were to face someone like Dresden on a regular basis, Saerian would need a plan.
The demon was devising one.
He stood, hands in his pockets, head angled down, wearing a suit despite the rustic setting of the fair.